Chink in Her Armor
by reject187
Summary: She is the emblem of control, danger nestled in an unassuming package, a goddess of war. And when she hurts, you only find a blank, default look. She wears the leather wrist cuff for a reason. Warning! Possibly triggering to those who self injure.
1. Control

**Disclaimer: **Firefly is the property of Joss Whedon (YAY!) and FOX (BOO!). Me no own.

She is the emblem of control, danger nestled in an unassuming package, a goddess of war. And when she hurts, you only find a blank, default look.

She wears the leather wrist cuff for a reason. Control. To forget. To stop feeling numb. To punish herself. To mask. It's the one chink in her armor that could make everything else crumble. Her one link to herself.

--Control

She slipped out of bed, not disturbing her husband's snoring frame. He rolled over, and she froze, praying he hadn't woken up.

"Zoe."

She answered softly. "Yes, dear?"

"Did you let the purple penguins out of the zoo on purpose? Cuz I think the money was on the Oliphant, but you never know with Badger."

She grinned. Just sleep talkin' was all. Always in his deepest stage of sleep, so she was safe. She continued across their bunk to a secret space in the wall. Without ceremony she pushed in a small flip switch in the wall which released a small drawer.

She took a deep breath and removed what was in the drawer, then sat in a corner of the room. Silently she undid the leather wrist cuff on her right arm.

In the soft glow of the room, several scars were visible on that wrist. Never more than an eighth of an inch deep and all an inch to an inch and a quarter in length. She raised the knife she had retrieved from that drawer and made three more slashes identical to the ones before.

With the cuts, a feeling of euphoria raced up her arm and into her brain. She sat back and sighed in relief. Finally. Control.

Every day, Mal tells her what do to, and she does it. Wash asks her to do something, and she complies. Her life is on a constant roller coaster of unmanageable events. Living and dying are unpredictable, and in many cases, probable.

So this is her little bit of control. Her small island of euphoria where everything is perfect. Everything as it should be.

She sighed again. The euphoria was wearing off, and she was tempted to one more cut. But she knew if she gave in, nothing would stop her. She had control over it, no? One slip and it would all be lost. So she squeezed antiseptic on the cuts and fastened the leather wrist cuff over them again. The knife went back in the wall, and she went back to bed. Her eyes closed, knowing that in 24 hours she would be awake and again in a state of contemplation.


	2. Forget

**Disclaimer**: Joss Whedon owns Firefly. I just play with it.

She is the emblem of control, danger nestled in an unassuming package, a goddess of war. And when she hurts, you only find a blank, default look.

She wears the leather wrist cuff for a reason. Control. To forget. To stop feeling numb. To punish herself. To mask. It's the one chink in her armor that could make everything else crumble. Her one link to herself.

--------Forget

Tonight, she was desperate. Tonight, it was necessary. She held to that moment at 1:35 ship time in the morning when she knew her husband would be long gone into sleep and when the time came, her body woke her up. She sat up quickly, jostling the bed as little as possible. Again to the wall, with the catch, and the drawer. Antiseptic, gauze, tape, all lined up in order past the razor. She removes the cuff and lets it fall to the ground. It makes a soft thud.

The razor bites into her arm eight times. The ninth is about to slide when a voice startles her.

"Zoe?"

Just Wash. Sleep talking again. "Yes, dear?"

She hears him shift in their bed. "What are you doing?"

She freezes. His voice is too engaged, too deep for sleep talking. She turns toward their bed, slowly, hiding wrist and razor by her side in the shadows as she checks to confirm her suspicions.

He is lying on his side, hand propping his head up, tousled blond hair perched on his brow. But his eyes are serious in the soft glow of the red floor lights which are always on. His come hither look is out of commission, and a dreaming haze making him blind is absent.

He can see her.

"Wh…What do you mean, darlin'?"

"You know what I mean, Zoe. What are you doing?"

"Oh. Nothing." Ta ma de. Her cuff falling must have awoken him.

"Nothing involves shiny sharp objects on your wrist, eh."

She didn't answer. Wouldn't. If he took this away from her…

"Finish up quick and get over here."

She sighed. Now the lack of control she felt was slipping into what she controlled. So she made the last cut a little deeper, a bit wider than all previous. Just to defy him. Then she cleansed and wrapped the wounds and reached down to pick up that treacherous cuff.

She snapped it into place. Replaced her supplies. Walked over to him stiffly. He patted the mattress beside him. She crawled under the cover and lay on her back, cuffed arm away from him.

He started playing with her hair. "Baby. Oh, baby. What's up?"

She didn't answer. She couldn't. How could she? She lay silently, staring at the ceiling.

"Why?"

His voice broke on that one-syllable word. Slightly surprised, she turned to look at his face the first time since he had ordered her to their bed.

Zoe could tell he was on the verge of tears, and out of instinct reached toward him to caress his face.

He gently grabbed her wrist, earning a wince from his wife. "Honey, what happened?"

"Nothing I want to reiterate to you, dear," her words quiet, yet biting.

"Just me, or everyone?"

She bit her lip. "Everyone."

"Was it Mal?"

Silence.

"It was, wasn't it. I swear, I'm gonna—"

"Hey. No. Stop." Her arm shot across his chest and pinned him to the bed. "Calm down, bao bei." She bit her lip. "It was just me, honey. My fault. Alright?"

"But he hurt you."

She gave him a look, one that said with a grim smirk, _Since when does ANYONE hurt me?_

"But…you're doing…THIS…to yourself…"

"As I said. My fault. My responsibility. Go to sleep, husband."

They turned over, backs to each other. Just as she thought he was about to doze off, she heard, "How is it your fault?"

She pulled in one shuddering breath. In one smooth motion, Wash had turned over, had his arms around her, and was wiping tears away from her cheeks.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"_ZOE!"_

"_Yes, sir?"_

"_How could you be so STUPID!"_

_The captain was pacing in the cargo bay in front of an ill-at-ease Zoe. She stood with her back ramrod straight, legs shoulder length apart, her right hand holding her left wrist behind her back, and her chin up. Mal shot murderous eyes at his first mate. _

"_In all seriousness, Zoe, what in the gorram 'verse were you thinking?"_

"_Just trying to help, sir."_

"_Well, it didn't! Got us into a whole heap of trouble. Alliance gonna be down on us like fleas on a dog!_

"_They ain't yet, sir. And chances are they won't be. We got off that planet, didn't we? It's hardly likely that they'll send Alliance after our junker, sir. It'll show their weaknesses too much."_

"_Still weren't a wise move, Zoe."_

"_Sorry, sir."_

"_You're gonna stay at this helm until it's sure they ain't comin' after us."_

"_Yes, sir."_

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Alliance wasn't after us, Zoe."

"Almost were, husband. Barely got away. You were busy sleepin', didn't want to bother you."

"Zoe…"

She tried to speak again, give yet another excuse, but he placed a finger over her lips, quieting her.

"You know it's always alright to wake me, wife. I don't want you scared of it. My job is this ship, keepin' her safe. Thank you for letting me sleep, but you can't hold the world on your shoulders either, dear."

She didn't know how to respond to that. So instead she just snuggled a little closer and whispered a thank you.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

AN: Thanks for reading and/or reviewing. I do realize there are other fics out there like this one. If you know of one in the Fireflyverse, I'd be most interested. Questions, Comments, Complaints, Criticisms, and Compliments are all welcomed.


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